


Anachronox

by TheAnachronoxTeam (ProbablyNotZen)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Canon Divergence (Finn ain't joining us folks), Legacies and Consequences, Other, Plot Aftermath, Second Generation, The Power of Friendship has finally failed us all, The Timeline where no one's having fun, What if you aren't chosen?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25777369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablyNotZen/pseuds/TheAnachronoxTeam
Summary: The age of heroes might just be over, but there's still battles left to fight.
Kudos: 2





	Anachronox

It had all come down to this. The Horde had forced its way into the Scarlet Woods, the resistance’s last fighters had been forced to withdraw, and it would only be hours until Horde troops got their hands on the cache of First Ones tech. Cato was the last piece left on the board, a lone scout tasked to slip past an army and swipe their spoils. He looked down at the old map he’d been given, eyes straining to read it in the pre-dawn light.

The odds today were twenty-odd troopers with bot support against one fifteen year old with a sword, so stealth was the only option. The cache itself was surrounded on 2 sides by a curving river, and a third by a high ridge: he’d only have one real direction of approach and they’d be guarding it. The woods and the last minutes of darkness were going to help, but this was going to be no easy feat.

Cato instinctively moved to tie his hair back, mentally checking and rechecking his equipment. Sword, flare, the map in his coat and the compass knotted to his belt, finally ensuring that his orders were left behind and hidden in case of capture. At last his hand came to the relic tied around his neck; the hilt of a broken blade of blued crystal, unnaturally light for its size. He slipped it beneath his shirt, and set out into the woods.

From his view high up in the trees, Cato judged the final approach. The cache turned out to be a single shard of cobalt, webbed in ancient circuits, stuck in a worn stone pedestal hiding in a rut in the earth. Of course the Horde had beat him here, but here they were, just standing around the prize. They were fanned out, guarding the one clear entryway, the first rays of dawn shining off their armor in sickly green. What were they waiting for? Whatever it was, Cato couldn’t afford to wait and find out. But with bots watching the flanks and the guards in front, how could he slip in?

He turned his eyes from below to above. The Scarlet Wood was all old growth, and at its top was an unbroken web of branches. He could even spy the route that would get him right above the cache, only one massive leap away from him. It was a risk to get there, but then again no guard ever thinks to look up. He dropped further into a crouch, set his weight on his back foot, and broke into a sprint before leaping off the branch. The world slowed down around him.

For a terrible moment he hung as if suspended in the air, completely out of cover for all the world to see. Then he felt gravity start to drag him down and down, further below the branch that stuck out as his only lifeline. There was just enough time to begin to panic, as he stretched himself in slow motion, stretching out his whole body to reach as his life quite literally depended on it.

Time ratcheted back up to speed as he hooked his arms on the furthest edge of that branch, the quiet thunder of the leaves practically announcing his arrival. He stayed stock stiff for a moment, dangling a hundred feet in the air.

A second passed. Then another, and another. No one had blasted him yet. Cato hoisted himself up with a strained sort of silence. The rest was simple. He’d grown up climbing and hiding in these trees, and he could take all the time he needed to silently lower himself. Lowering himself one branch at a time took time, and the lower he got the more clear it was that all it would take to doom him was one Horde soldier thinking to check their rear.

He hit the ground with a quick roll, and crouched behind the stone pedestal. In a quick flash, he swiped the relic and slipped it into his pack. He took stock of the troopers facing away from him, moving in hesitating steps and swinging their heads in nervous little snaps across the horizon. Perfect. His hand went to the little sorcerous flare at his belt, and aimed it further down the overland path away from the cache. His eyes flicked over to his escape route over the river. He had one shot at this.

The flare fired in a red-white streak across the clearing. Warped voices roared from Horde troops as bots clattered in high alert, but Cato was already making a break for the river. He could only hope the chaos he’d orchestrated was working. The blast next to his feet was a bad sign, he glanced to see it had been fired from a bot. That should’ve been game over, but his body refused to accept it as it took the last few steps before plunging straight into the river.

Drilled instincts kicked in. He let out as much air as he could, went still, and tried to keep as low in the water as possible. The water wasn’t clear enough to see, but bot sensors would notice him easily. He just had to hold onto hope, there had to be some way out of this. Ten seconds passed, then twenty, and it was all silent. Cato’s chest began to burn, and he knew he had to surface. Desperately controlling himself to come up slowly, and his head broke water to see…

No one. The whole squad had broken off. The overrides! The troopers never saw him, thought the bots shot at nothing, and manually ordered them to break off and follow. He had to move before they doubled back. He scrambled out of the river, and made a break into the treeline. He kept running, putting enough of the forest between himself and the squad to keep out of sight. As a last check, he quickly turned in a circle, checking for anything he hadn’t accounted for. All seemed quiet.

He let himself rest then, posting up against a tree, taking a few heaving breaths. He realized his mistake then, and looked up. There she was, outlined in the dim light that crept through the canopy. Cato recognized her instantly. Thirty feet above him, poised perfectly to strike down from the trees stood Catra, the Assassin Queen of the Horde. She slowly took her claws out from the tree’s trunk and leaned down to hover directly above his head.

“Lost, aren’t you kid?” She whispered from above.

Cato dashed before he even thought to run. It was a hopeless escape from his very first step, but he raced for every inch of distance. He went storming through the forest floor, before leveraging his speed to leap between tree trunks to gain height, all the while she chased him close as his own shadow. He’d wagered his life that he could move through the knotted branches faster than her, but Catra moved with an unnaturally violent grace that he could hear growing closer.

It was chaos. The massed tangle of tree limbs came and went faster than his mind could move through, so his eyes just told his body where to go. A half-mad dance into and out of danger, his head trailing desperately after where his body was taking it.

A claw sunk into his boot, dragging his whole body backwards, and sending him tumbling off balance to the ground. He plummeted through branches and sunk into the dirt below, but had the desperate instinct to scramble to his feet and pull a sword to face his attacker. He’d seen the cliff only a handful of steps behind him in the fall, making this a last stand. Catra seemed to know it too, casually closing the distance between them.

She slid between stances and kept closing in, practically daring him to strike first. He tried dodging right and out of the corner he was in, forcing out a claw against his sword. He tried to lunge forward to gain advantage, and then it was a brawl. Her hands flew at him, probing his defenses. Cato was forced into a mad string of dodges to stay alive, each second forcing another step back to the edge. He only had seconds until she would push him over the edge, he couldn’t just keep this up.

She overcommitted to a swipe that he caught out, far to his right. He threw his opposite shoulder in instinct, and she slid out of reach and down onto her hands. He had the opening to run, maybe he could even make it, but in the quarter second he had to think he made a different call.

Cato launched himself, wound like a spring for a final strike, blade held high in the light of a breaking dawn at his back.

He flew directly into Catra, her shoulder driven dead into his chest. His sword was gone in an instant. His vision blurred to a blackening haze. He was falling back onto failing feet. He had only dim awareness of the two blows he blocked then, and a sharper awareness of the two body-blows that she’d forced under his guard. He could feel his foot beginning to slip off the cliff edge, and so he threw one last blow in a blind arc in front of him. A clawed hand caught his hand mid-strike, and knee to the stomach knocked the last reserves of air and sense out of him.

He fell, only feeling it in the weight coming off his feet and the sickening sense of the world turning around him.

His whole body jerked as something caught his shirt. With his feet barely planted on the very edge it dangled him over the sheer drop. He took one last look into her eyes.

“You alright kid?” He heard, the world slowly turning right side up. Catra steadied him on his feet, and Cato waited a moment for the forest to stop spinning around him.

“Yeah, I’m good. Can’t even feel it yet.” He lied, meeting her eyes. She stood, arms folded and leaning on her back foot, looking over Cato with a trained eye. The oddly detailed set of horde armor the training program projected onto her was already fading away with the troopers that had gathered behind her.

He walked over to where his sword had fallen, picked up the blunted piece of iron, and winced a little as he had to drag himself onto his feet.

“How’d I do?” He asked, trying to hide exactly how thoroughly he got himself beat. Catra leaned even further back, and brought a mocking hand to her chin.

“You should’ve left before the sun came up, your approach path was sloppy and should’ve gotten you killed, you spent half a minute just waiting in the middle of an enemy camp, your escape plan didn’t exist, you ran _towards_ a cliff even though you should have known it was there, and I managed to push you over it in about…” She thought for a moment, “thirty seconds?”

She broke into a smile, and leaned in toward Cato, “and the worst part is: that was your best one yet.” She threw a forceless fist against his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but laugh a little. She turned, and started strolling back into the woods, and Cato followed. He was more than a little frustrated with himself, realizing now he hadn’t noticed he’d run towards the campsite they’d both started from last night.

“It’s going to be weird the first time I actually pass.” He called forward. He heard a stifled little laugh ahead.

“It’s definitely something,” she said, sparing a glance back at Cato, “When Adora and I used to come out here, I only got her once. She got cute and thought she could try sneaking around me. You shoulda seen the look on her face when I pinned her sword arm, it was…”

She paused then, and brought her head back to face away from him.

“It was a good day.”

The forest stayed pretty quiet the rest of the way back to camp.

The crack in the great double doors drew a sharp line of light across Mirage’s face. The stage was empty, but the balconies that looked down on it were neatly packed with every notable in Brightmoon. The spires of the city drowned the open amphitheatre in reflected sunlight, and she could spy the thousands that were watching from rooftops and patios stretching to the farthest edges of the city’s center. Perhaps she was standing in the last dark place on Etheria…

Mirage took a step back from the door, closed her eyes, and took a few practiced breaths. She could almost feel her body settle lower, her feet grow more planted. Her hands fiddled with the paper in her hands, even though she’d memorized her lines days ago. She was the princess of Brightmoon, and the kingdom required this of her. It would be done, and done exactly as it should.

She opened her eyes to the sound of familiar footsteps behind her, and turned. There stood her father, the king, a proper Brightmoon uniform sitting somewhat awkwardly on his frame. He had stopped short, and looked at her with the same dumb smile that had worn itself into his face over the years.

“Your highness,” he jested, alongside an exaggerated little bow, “are you ready?”

“Yes,” she replied, maybe a little too quickly, “I mean, of course. It’s just another speech.” She arched her back and held herself high at the thought of it. Bow stepped in close to her, and set a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s a celebration. Our city is growing, we’re building a better world every day, and we’ve had peace so long it’s not even special anymore. Just go out there and remind everyone how lucky we are to be here.”

He took a second, and looked her square in the eyes, “and I know you’ll do great.” Mirage allowed herself to smile a little as she set her hand on his, and brushed him off.

“I know. It’s kinda what I do.” She said, turning back to face the crowd hidden behind the curtain. She waited a beat before tilting her head back towards Bow.

“By the way, your sash is on backwards.”

And like that, she was gone in a cloud of magic.

The stage itself was an open balcony built into the walls of the palace, raised high above the open amiptheater. From this height she could spy the streets beyond the theatre, filled with brightly colored pavilions and the sea of faces that were all turning towards her as trumpets announced her entrance. Mirage’s mind raced, but there was only a moment for that before the noise of the crowds below quieted to a reverent silence.

“Citizens of Brightmoon,” she began, her voice projected clearly by magic built into the platform, “we have assembled today to _remember_. Many of you can still recall a time when a day as today would be inconceivable. A day when no daughter or son of our city would be sent out to risk their lives for Etheria. When Brightmoon could stand, and say that she has no enemy in the world. When our fair city would know peace and progress for so long that the war would be like a forgotten nightmare. By the grace of Etheria, and the sacrifice of our Queen and her people, that day has come.

It is because of them that today I can say that it has been 25 years since our world knew war, and that I have never known it. By the further efforts of our Queen and her people, they have been perhaps the greatest years in our history.

We have joined Mystacor into our realm, and brought their ancient knowledge into the light. The Royal Institute has become the height of research into new technologies. Each day our harbors are filled with treasure and peoples from across the face of Etheria.

So I ask you to take this day, and celebrate it. We are perhaps the most fortunate people in all the history of Etheria, and our citizens have fought, labored, and bled to make us so.”

Mirage paused a moment, watching the noon sunlight play over the faces below her and the great spires that dwarved them all.

“May the Moonstone watch over us.” She took a step back, and gave a ceremonial wave to the assembled citizens.

The applause was deafening.

It had been a long day, breaking camp and marching through the riverbeds and ridges that made up a path home through the Scarlet Woods. The sun was dragging itself lower and lower on the horizon, filing the forest in shafts of golden red light. The rhythm of the hike had finally worn itself into Cato’s head, the cadence of his boots striking into the undergrowth and the pack pulling at his shoulders was increasingly hypnotic on top of just being painful.

Catra was about ten paces ahead, walking with a careless ease, knapsack thrown over her shoulder. She’d been quiet. Usually by now he’d have had every strike, block, and footstep he’d made in the last few days of training ripped apart by her; but somehow silence was worse. Who knew what she was actually going to say when the time came. Were his shoulders always this tight?

Then she stopped. She let her pack down, and set her back against a tree along the edge of the path. Cato could only see half her face as she closed her eyes, took in a long breath, and turned to face him.

“You didn’t run.”

Cato felt his eyes turn towards the ground. He dropped his pack, and knelt to dig his canteen out from it. Catra kept her eyes on him, ensuring he wasn’t going to hide.

“I didn’t think I could have. I didn’t have much room, and I didn’t see any good escape routes.”

He kept his eyes set toward his pack, but he knew she was still staring at him. He only heard silence.

“I...I made a mistake. It happens.”

She didn’t say a word. Cato froze for a second, exhaled, and then stood up to face her.

“I don’t get it,” he started, defiance starting to show in his voice, “I mean, we come out here to train to fight week after week. I’ve had to run drills and get beat into the dirt for months. I mean, I’m training with the best fighter left on the planet! I can do this, and you’re asking me why I don’t run away?”

There was a long silence.

“Mom, I’m a fighter. Let me...you know, fight.”

It was then that Catra got a look on her face, a certain kind of satisfied smugness that was unique in all the world. Cato’s stance grew more defensive, and his eyes glanced around in a bit of confusion.

“Took you long enough to start asking that,” she said, rolling herself forward to stand straight, “You picked a pretty stupid way to ask it but hey, let’s talk.”

“First off, deciding that ‘running away’ isn’t something you do is a bad idea. If someone knows you’re the kind of idiot that doesn’t know when to quit, and _I_ do, then they can use that to manipulate you into doing something stupid, and _I_ did. ”

Cato shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“The more important thing was that even if you were smarter about it, beating me wasn’t your goal; escaping was. Going toe-to-toe with _‘the best fighter on the planet’_ seems like a bad way to get there, plus it gave time for their backup to arrive.”

His eyes had fallen back down to avoid hers, which was hopefully a sign he was learning _something_ today.

“Come on, let’s get moving.” They threw their packs back on, and started down the last leg through the woods. With the air cooling and the warm light of sunset playing across the new spring leaves the Scarlet Wood was at its kindest to them then.

“It’s easy to say you’re a fighter. You see people, you beat them up, simplest thing in the world. But if you never think about why you’re beating them up, someone smarter than you is gonna use you. You’re like a hammer: useful, but stupid enough to do someone else’s job for them.”

“Speaking from experience?” Cato called up from behind. She craned her head back to face him, trying to hide a smile.

“Don’t get cute with me,” she said, trying to hide a smile, “but, yeah. I got thrown over a lot of cliffs fighting for the Horde, and let me tell you: it was _not_ worth it.”

“Does the whole ‘the world is spinning and I’m standing still’ thing get worse when you actually go _over_ the cliff?”

“Oh it’s, like, a thousand times worse. Plus you don’t realize how much you’re falling until you look up and the ledge is suddenly a hundred feet away.” A shudder went down her spine at the thought of it.

“What were we talking about? Right, fighting. The thing is, if you’re going to be in that much danger and doing that much damage to someone, it’s gotta be for a good reason. If you can run, if you can trick them, if you can just say something; that’s always the better option.” Cato let everything rattle around in his head for a second, trudging a little further down the path.

“I get it.” He said.

“Great, now it’s only a couple of years before we can get you to remember that when it actually counts.”

Cato nodded, perhaps a bit sheepishly, and with that they fell back into a quiet march through the woods. They were only a handful of miles from home, and Cato found himself daydreaming of the beautiful moment when he’d get to peel his boots off his feet.

“Last lesson for the day, I swear,” He heard Catra call up from ahead, turning her head back to face him, “Dying for the cause is for suckers.”

Cato stopped, and met her gaze.

“I know mom.”

They kept walking.

Brightmoon was, fittingly, blindingly bright. That was true even on a normal night, but on festivals it could block out the sky. Even from her perch sitting beside the Moonstone, Mirage could make out more of Etheria’s moons than any of the stars beyond.

It was all so distant from that high up, seeing the city stretch from the far hills to the shore below her and the infinite sea of black above her. And here she was, all alone, surrounded by them both. The faint light from the stone felt like some kind of island, against the black and the lights.

She looked up, and her eyes traced familiar patterns in the faces of the moons. She could feel a sort of pressure at the back of her head. There were a million souls down there, all lost in the sea of searchlights and streetlamps; and each and every one of them needed her. Etheria _chose_ her, out of that million people, as princess. But here she was, hiding up in a tower when the whole city was out celebrating.

She flipped over the mask in her hand so that it stared back at her. It was just some old masquerade piece, it’s extravagance built of paper and foil, a black face rimmed with silver. Mirage turned it over again, but then forced herself to take in one last, deep breath under the light of the Moonstone. She’d stalled long enough.

The teleport placed Mirage precisely in the alley just outside of Marigold Street, her identity well hidden beneath a mask and commoner’s cloak. The bustle of the festival made moving unseen all too easy as she moved with practiced purpose through the street so wide it was practically a long plaza. It was an absolute disaster of revelers, vendors, street sorcerers, misplaced nobles, musicians, young lovers, and bedazzled dancers; a patchwork tide rolling through the meticulously set streets of Brightmoon.

Yet there was one point she could pick out, lying beneath the yawning spires of the City and embedded in the crowds. Some lost student of Mystacor or the Royal Sorcerer’s Guild in Brightmoon, a ragged coat of stars and moons across his shoulders. Those around him were spellbound, following the tale he was telling and the illusions woven into being between his gloved hands. Mirage knew him by his shock of silver-gold hair, and the black mask that covered half his face in a curling crescent.

“And that my dear friends,” he continued, “is when our beloved queen knew, the doom that lay at the heart of our world.” His eyes met with Mirage’s as he leaned back in his dramatic pause, and his green eye winked to blue in acknowledgement. To the audience he shot up a single finger before his face.

“But that my dire fiends, is a tale for another night.” The magician gave a last showman’s bow, all the while a smoke growing up from his shoes swallowed him. He vanished from all the world for a few moments, bemused applause falling on the place where he once stood. Mirage knew he was behind her and turned,not bothering to allow him his usual entrance.

“Your highness,” he began with a bow so overdone he should’ve lost his balance, “the humble sorcerer’s of Pike’s Promenade are, as always, at your service.”

“I don’t have time for a show today Meph,” she started, nonplussed. The magician nodded his head a few times, breathed a little, and rolled his eyes for just a flash.

“Sorry Mira,” Mephit began again, “but in my defense, it _is_ a holiday. There is not a single thing to report. The gang has spread itself across the city, and they are not finding anything. I mean, even the 7th Street Warlocks are taking the day off. Worst thing that’s happening tonight is a windfall for some opportunistic pickpockets.”

He moved a little closer to Mira, leaning into a lamp post.

“No one needs you tonight. I mean I could, if that’s what you are really asking about. I mean, who would recognize us in the crowd tonight? We could be running over the roofs, or pulling illusions on the elderly, or sneaking into the shows by the docks. It’d be just like old times.”

By this point Mephit had stuck his hand out to Mirage, begging her to meet him halfway. She didn’t move, and kept her eyes squarely set on him.

“Or, you could, perhaps, go stop the gentlemen loading stolen Institute goods down by the docks, that I just recalled.” Mirage kept staring through him for a long second, before pulling a little closer.

“Meph, we’re not kids anymore. You know that Brightmoon is my responsibility, just like I know you should probably be working on not getting kicked out of Mystacor.”

He was staring at the sky, not really listening because he thought he already knew what he was going to hear. Mirage paused for a second.

“But, I have to say: thanks for the help. Without you I’d basically be blind.”

She gave him a smile before turning her head towards the moon.

“I have to go.”

When Mephit looked back, she was gone. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and started an exaggerated little strut down the street. When he heard thunder rolling in the distance, he knew it hadn’t come from a cloud.

It was night in Scaro, and with the sun down Seacole could finally close up shop. The makeshift clinic set up in her living room looked more like a ship’s medical bay than any kind of hospital; all overstuffed supply cabinets and loose articles stowed wherever they’d fit. Her old man set up in the morning, so she cleaned up at night, taking particular care to leave a few supplies out for tonight. It was done in a few short minutes, giving her enough time to take a seat, untie her black hair, and stretch out the strain of a good day’s work out of her shoulders.

Then there was a familiar knock on the door, and another knock from someone...someone tired. Someone really tired, and beat up. _Another_ knock from someone who probably just got beat up by his ex-soldier mother, and needs his old friend who’s always here to patch him up, _even_ when the clinic was _closed_ , and…

“Seacole, just open the door.” Cato sounded a little more ragged than usual, so she picked herself up and opened up. He was propped up against the door frame, straw hair hanging in a tangle, lightly clutching his side through his overcoat. The real bad sign were his eyes, looking past her and slowly dragging themselves around.

“Alright, sit yourself down. I’ll be out in a moment” She said, sweeping her arm towards the pair of chairs on the front deck. He managed all three steps to the chair before he collapsed into it.

“The march back home still killing you?” She asked through the doorway, grabbing a few familiar tinctures and bandages to carry outside.

“Seven miles and fifty pounds. Sometimes I think that’s the real fight out there.”

“You could always give up and be a sailor. Don’t need to carry your gear on a ship.”

He bobbed his head up to give her a long look.

“I mean come on. You’re strong, dumb enough to go up the rigging, and hey I’d even guess you float.”

Cato laughed the little he could, and settled back into a bruised heap. Seacole walked back over to him, and set out her tools with a quick sweep of her hands. She folded her arms, staring down at Cato. With a sigh he sloughed off his coat, and winced as he dragged off his shirt.

“Good news and bad news. The good news is that I’m pretty sure your nerves are still working. Bad news is that’s because you _should_ be in some pain right now.” Cato managed a relatively aggressive grumble in response while Seacole plucked a bottle and took a long look at the deep bruises stamped into his chest. She popped the cork, flipped the mouth of the bottle into a rag, and set it against the largest and angriest mark. Cato seethed a little at her touch, and his back arched in protest.

She took a deep breath, and set her focus on the living warmth of her hands. With a wipe of her off hand, a circle of turquoise light surrounded the wound. There were good signs; his breathing grew steadier and deeper, and the stupid pained look on his face eased up a little.

“You know, I’d have half a mind to ask your Mom to stop nearly breaking your ribs. I mean, if I didn’t know she could _definitely_ break mine.”

“It’s a training thing.” He replied, his voice losing some of it’s edge.

“I don’t get it.”

“She only ever really nails me when she’s on the defensive. I’m too eager to get stuck in, I guess.”

“Wait, she totally did that thing where she acted like she was down, and baited you to-“

“Yeah, she did...that.”

“You should really watch out for that one.” She said, struggling to keep a straight face. Cato looked like he didn’t want to dignify that with an answer. She took a minute to finish her healing. She was briskly moving between cuts and wounds; assessing which could be safely ignored, which needed patching, which needed magical attention. Lastly slapping a sweet ginger tonic in his hand before snapping open her own. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than a pair of minutes.

Cato sat up, only slightly surprised that his body had stopped screaming at him as he slipped his clothes back on.

“Thanks. I really don’t know what I’ll do when you leave.”

“They would’ve given me a medal back in Salineas, if the captain could admit he had a kid for a medic...and if they were willing to overlook some of the less legal things we did...and if we were allowed to dock in Salineas.” Cato was giving her a look again.

“Alright look, at least my hobby isn’t getting beat up by my mom every week.”

They laughed for a good moment, relaxing back into their chairs, letting their heads fall back to face the stars. For a long moment they sat in the night breeze, and the warm smell of the new life of spring.

“So you’re really heading off to Brightmoon?” Cato asked.

“Yeah. Acceptance letter said the Academy expects me in about a month, so I’ve already started packing. It’s gonna be weird leaving Scaro behind. I think it’s the first place I’ve liked since I started the whole landlubbin’ thing.” She paused.

“I wonder if I get credit towards a medical degree from patching up your sorry butt.”

“You’d probably be a doctor already if they did.”

Seacole snorted at that one.

“How about you, Cato?”

“What’d you mean?”

“I mean, what’re you doing with your life?”

He shrugged, and took another drink of ginger tonic.

“I don’t really know.”

“Don’t tell me you’re out here getting beat up for the fun of it.”

“I...I guess I was thinking about doing some adventuring. I mean, the Whispering Wood is still full of old First Ones beasts, there’s a living there for a while.”

“That doesn’t really sound like a plan. Seriously man, what’re you trying to do with yourself?”

He shrugged.

“I mean, I don’t wanna pry here, but aren’t you basically royalty?”

Cato almost winced at that.

“It’s a whole...thing.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, I haven’t even left town since...well, since my mom died. What happened, it was bad. Really bad. I don’t even know the details, but it screwed up the Alliance, the whole world kinda.

Plus, I don’t have any powers, I don’t have a kingdom, and it’s probably better if no one has to think about how I fit into things. I’m pretty much nobody, but it’s like a _thing_ that I’m nobody. I’m _especially_ nobody.”

He set his bottle on the ground with a muffled thud. Seacole was quiet, turning over what he’d said in her head. She had about thirty new questions to ask, but the look on his face made her think twice about asking.

“I’m sorry, Cato. That sounds like a pretty raw deal.”

He stayed quiet for a long time.

“I think...I just wanna be something.” He turned to face Seacole, a little smile growing on his face.

“I’m not a Princess, but I’m not gonna just be nobody.”


End file.
